


It Only Takes A Spark

by sunstarunicorn



Series: Magical Flashpoint Side Stories [33]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Renfaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27306394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: Ever since Clark Lane’s introduction to the Wizarding World, he’s been more interested in medieval culture and mythology, an interest that’s attracted attention.  When he gets an invitation to an unusual birthday party, he, Lance, and Alanna find themselves in a modern recreation of a medieval town.  But why do they call it a Renfaire?
Series: Magical Flashpoint Side Stories [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/576850
Comments: 8
Kudos: 4





	1. What’s a Renfaire?

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the Magical Flashpoint Side Story series. It follows "Bang Bang You're Dead" and comes before "Son of the Fox".
> 
> This year's Halloween and Christmas stories are a bit different, I do admit. This is because I've written so many stories for Season 4 that if I were to follow the same schedule that I have up till now, the Halloween and Christmas stories would be from Season 5 when we are still nowhere near Season 5. So when faced with the facts of the matter, I came to the decision that I would have two stories, set roughly in the second half of Season 4, that would serve as this year's Halloween/Christmas stories.
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

Clark Lane ducked into his high school library and dropped a book into the return bin before hurrying towards the looming stacks of bookcases. He already knew what he wanted to check out next and he’d scoped out the online catalog to narrow down where his target was. Assuming the catalog was right, all he had to do was find which shelf the book was on. If he could find it fast enough, he could check it out before he had to head for his first class.

On the surface, a high school library was the _last_ place to find books on magic and its history, but when he’d been researching an English paper a month or two earlier, he’d found several books on mythology and the legend of King Arthur. It was treated as pure fantasy of course, but when Clark had brought the first book home, he’d found out many stories _his_ world called _fantasy_ contained grains of historical truth. Even better, the magical world had done a really good job of preserving ancient writings they were interested in, which made sense once he’d thought about it. Even before the printing press or modern preservation methods, the magical world had had spells for copying and preservation and all that stuff.

Fascinated by the differences between stories found in both the magical and technological worlds, Clark kept checking out books from his library to take home, read, and quiz his adopted cousins about. He also started wondering why the magical world had stagnated like it had. If the magical world had invented copying and preservation spells _long_ before his world could develop technological equivalents, why weren’t they still ahead of the curve? Why hadn’t they invented spells to go to the Moon or visit other planets? Why hadn’t they come up with cures to all sorts of diseases? And most puzzling, why did the wizards just huddle in their enclaves and act all afraid of what would happen if techies found out about them?

Counting shelves, Clark slowed his pace, scanning the tags as he searched for the right letter; like most libraries, books were sorted according to the author’s last name; absently, Clark wished for that spell that could re-sort entire shelves at one time or maybe that summoning spell. When he spotted the ‘M’s, he dismissed all other thoughts and crouched to examine each author name, running one finger along the book spines. He sped past the authors with the wrong second letter, shifting down towards the lower shelves as he went. Just as he was afraid he’d have to move to the next rack, he spied the book. It was jutting out a little past its fellows and Clark spared a second to check the title, author, and what he could see of the Dewey Decimal Number before he seized his find, pulling it free of the shelf.

“Oh. That’s the one you were after.”

Clark’s head came up and he automatically clutched the book closer as he registered the disappointment in the other boy’s voice. Standing, he gazed into light brown eyes in a slightly chubby face. Freckles dusted the stranger’s cheeks and chin; his dusty brown hair, while not as full as Clark’s own head of curly dark-brown hair, fell past his shoulders in a style that Clark recognized from several medieval films. Add that to the other boy’s t-shirt, which featured a Crusader in full armor, and Clark was pretty sure he knew why his schoolmate was disappointed.

Adjusting his stance to tuck the book a little farther away from his competition, Clark replied, “Yeah, sorry about that. If you want, you can come with me and get your name on the waiting list.”

The other boy eyed Clark’s find longingly, but sighed and nodded acceptance. As the two boys headed for the check-out area, he asked, “Research for an English paper?”

“Not really,” Clark admitted. “My cousins got me into medieval stuff, but it’s been pretty interesting so far.”

“Yeah?” The other boy sounded surprised, maybe even a little hopeful.

Clark nodded and glanced down at the book in his hands. “I just hope this one doesn’t talk about Lancelot and Guinevere having an affair; my cousins just about laughed themselves sick over that one.”

“Why?” the other boy wondered, cocking his head to the side. “That’s a big part of the legends.”

“Well, my cousins said it was actually only one kiss, but it didn’t count ‘cause Guinevere was enchanted and Lancelot was a Shade,” Clark explained. “But only Merlin knew about that ‘cause the Shade committed suicide that night.”

“I’ve never heard that.”

Clark stiffened – him and his big mouth. Like an _idiot_ , he’d gone and babbled about Camelot’s _real_ history, not any of the legends. Forcing nonchalance, he shrugged. “Maybe they got it from their Dad and he probably played it down.” At the puzzled look, Clark added, “My cousin’s named after Sir Lancelot.”

“Ooooh,” the other boy exclaimed, but softly. “Yeah, kinda awkward if the guy you’re named after had an affair, even if it _was_ with a queen.” Holding out a hand as they reached the check-out counter, he said, “I’m Darin, by the way.”

Clark set his book down in front of the librarian and dug out his library card for her, then returned the handshake. “Clark Lane.”

Darin quirked a smile. “Well, Clark Lane, wanna come to my birthday party?”

The dark-haired teenager blinked. “We just met,” he pointed out. When Darin’s face fell, he added, “I’m not saying ‘no’, but…yeah…”

Darin shuffled his feet, disappointment plain. “Well…you seem like you like medieval stuff…”

Oh. Buying time, Clark turned to the librarian and indicated his companion. “We were both going for the same book, but I got there first. Can you put him on a waitlist or something?”

“Of course,” the older, gray-haired woman replied. Turning to Darin, she asked, “May I see your library card, please?”

Darin dug it out and Clark took the opening to eye him up and down. Clean-cut, not that he expected anything differently, and dressed casually, but the watch he was wearing looked fancy and Clark happened to know Darin’s sneakers were the latest style of Air Jordans. So why was a fairly well-off kid so lonely that he’d invite a guy he didn’t even _know_ to his birthday party? While Clark wasn’t the type to sponge off the rich kids, he knew plenty of his schoolmates would jump at the opportunity to ‘befriend’ Darin and put up with any eccentricities just to curry favor.

Keeping his voice non-committal, Clark took his library card back and asked, “Are your parents gonna be okay with you inviting someone they don’t know?”

Darin nodded at once. “I can invite anyone I want,” he replied. “Mom and Dad don’t care.” Adjusting his backpack, he reached in and pulled out a pamphlet. “This has all the info.”

Clark took the colorful brochure and examined it. “What’s a Renfaire?”

Excitement shone on Darin’s face. “Never been?”

“Never even heard of it,” Clark admitted.

“It’s wicked cool,” Darin enthused. “Mom and Dad didn’t want to pay for jousting, but we were able to get everything else.” Reaching forward, he flipped the pamphlet over. “If you wanna look it up, that’s their website for their usual fair site.”

“Sure thing,” Clark agreed. Shifting, he ventured, “Hey, uh, can I bring my cousins?”

“Your cousins?” Darin echoed, enthusiasm visibly dampening.

“Yeah, they’re the ones who got me into this stuff,” Clark reminded his new acquaintance. Pushing just a little harder, he added, “My cousin Lance actually knows how to use a broadsword.”

The other boy perked up. “He does?”

“Yeah and my other cousin’s a _wizard_ with her longbow.”

“Sweet,” Darin breathed. “Sure they can come!”

Clark double-checked the pamphlet. “I’ll ask my Mom about this tonight, okay? Is your contact info on here?”

“Should be,” Darin replied, leaning in to double-check himself. Then he pointed to it. “Right there.”

Collecting his library book, Clark said, “I’ll let you know, but for now…”

“Gotta run,” Darin agreed as the warning bell for the first class rang.


	2. Welcome to the Faire

On the day of Darin’s birthday party, Clark fought not to shoot his cousins a glare as he inspected his very own set of Narnian armor. The armor itself was wicked, built just like his cousins’ and his Dad’s, but had they _really_ had to pattern it after his Blue Beetle Halloween costume? There was even a holster for his Beetle gun on the right thigh.

Sighing, Clark hefted the armor back into its bag and carried it upstairs to his room. Once safely inside, he dropped the bag on his bed and carefully emptied it – carefully because his cousins had, for reasons best known to themselves, gotten _him_ a sword and bow just like his Dad. Digging through the clothing, the teen started with the light blue undershirt. On top, the tunic and jacket were dark blue on top and light blue on the bottom, the border between the two colors denoted by Blue Beetle’s signature style. Although Blue Beetle had never had a shield shaped red patch with a gold lion rampant on his right shoulder.

His forearm bracers were a solid navy blue, edged with black near his elbows. Like his cousins’ armor, the bracers were stitched and etched with a runic design and the outline of a running lion; his stitching was done in black, easily visible on the navy blue background. The gloves peeking from under the bracers were also navy blue and fit better than any glove Clark had ever worn before.

To Clark’s relief, the belt had the same silver-veined emerald green leaf as his cousins; the belt’s leather was black, but at least he didn’t have a yellow beetle belt buckle. His luck ended at the leggings; they were the same light blue as his undershirt and his boots were navy blue, just like his vambraces. Standing up, the teen inspected his boots; they _felt_ secure, as if he could stand on even the slickest, most precarious of surfaces. Given their origin, he wouldn’t be surprised to find out he was right.

Turning back to his bed, Clark started with the quiver, slinging it over his head; it settled in place across his chest as if made for him. Although he’d anticipated a struggle to get the bow attached, once he got it in position, it slid onto its carry point as if by magic. The sword and its sheath, likewise, slid onto his belt and into position on his left side without any difficulty. Curious, Clark reached into the armor bag again and wasn’t surprised to find the Beetle gun waiting for him. Not exactly medieval, but oh well.

Geared up and ready for an extremely _odd_ sort of party, Clark headed out of his room and back downstairs. Whereupon he blinked at Lance’s armor; he could’ve _sworn_ it had been red and blue, with a gold belt and a few spots of white trim before. Now it was patterned after Booster Gold’s costume, complete with a blue star on a two-tone jacket that now sported a gold-bronze triangle of color swooping down from his shoulders and navy blue on the rest. He also had navy blue gloves under gold-bronze bracers and gold-bronze leggings above navy blue boots. Oh and Booster’s Legion ring on Lance’s right hand. About the only thing Lance didn’t have was Booster’s trademark collar.

“What’d you do?”

His cousin shrugged. “Well, we kinda liked the prank, but it’s not fair if you’re the only one who has to go looking like a medieval super hero.”

Clark blinked. “I can change what the armor looks like?”

Sheepish, Lance shook his head. “No, but I can. Or ‘Lanna can, if you’d rather.”

Tugging at the jacket, Clark asked, “Is this really what it looks like?”

Lance tilted his head to the side, then understood the question and shook his head again. “No, when it came in, it was a lot more like your Dad’s, only the trim was yellow, not white like they have.”

“Black and yellow?” Clark questioned, both brows rising.

“Like this color,” Lance replied, tapped his own armor.

“Oh.” Examining his armor, Clark felt his shoulders slump. Why black and yellow? As annoyed as he was by the Blue Beetle design, he did kinda like the blue on blue color scheme. Maybe an emerald green trim or something…

“Hey,” Lance said, touching Clark’s shoulder. “I think maybe they did it like that ‘cause of your Dad.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah; I can tell you later why I think so, but if you want something different, I can do that.”

The teenager considered it, casting a look at Lance’s armor, and finally shook his head. “It’s okay, cuz.”

“You sure?”

“Shut up before I hit you with my sword.”

* * * * *

Clark felt bad when Darin goggled at them; his schoolmate was wearing a costume, too, but it was nowhere near as elaborate as the three complimentary sets of Narnian armor, fully equipped with medieval weapons. Nowhere near as comfortable either, not when Darin was clanking around in a suit of armor that looked like it had been used for a joust one too many times and had to be _sweltering_ on the warm, sunny day. Although Darin did have a sword, Clark noted that it was a rather flimsy rapier that didn’t match the armor at all.

Even worse, when Clark discreetly scanned the area, there was not a single high-school aged individual within five meters. Or beyond five meters either. Instead, the crowd milling outside the rented Renfaire grounds was all middle-aged or older, in two distinct clusters. One crowd was all in business attire and many were toting briefcases; the other was mostly women in fancy, high society dresses and outfits. None of them appeared as if they knew – or cared – that this was supposed to be a teenage boy’s birthday party.

Seeing where he was looking, Darin said, “My Dad’s having a business meeting and all their wives are here for Mom’s garden club.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Clark saw Lance flinch, a guilty expression of his own appearing. It was one thing to go all out for what had sounded like a _prime_ opportunity for a medieval-type costume party, but now it appeared they’d rubbed salt in Darin’s wound by completely showing him up at his four person birthday party.

“So can you show us around?” Alanna asked, slipping closer to Darin. “I’d never heard of a Renfaire before Clark showed us your birthday party invitation, but it sounds pretty cool.”

Darin lit up and tried to hold out his arm in a posture that would let him escort Alanna, but the metal plates clanked together, forcing him to maintain an awkward position. Alanna gently pushed his arm down, but her wide smile took away any sting he might’ve felt. “Gladly, milady,” Darin said, pitching his voice to sound deeper and more stately. “I fear we must tarry here until yon gates are swung wide, but I would be delighted to regale you with the history of our Faire.”

Clark and Lance moved to better spots for listening as Darin explained the Renfaire – or Renaissance Faire – to an attentive Alanna. From what Clark could tell, it was a mix of celebrating medieval culture – with suitably modern twists – and selling medieval themed merchandise to visitors. Although the falconry demonstration sounded really, really cool. Plus the joust, but unfortunately, Darin’s parents hadn’t been willing to pay for that. Alanna exclaimed over the glass-blowing and Lance perked up at the mention of blacksmiths, but the thing that almost made all three teenagers laugh was Darin’s solemn extolling of the traditional Renfaire turkey leg. It sounded big and messy and Clark knew he’d have to try it, just so he could say he had.

A commotion from the gates interrupted Darin and all four high schoolers watched as the Mayor of the Faire and his wife conducted a skit welcoming all the visitors; Clark grinned at the banter back and forth, clearly rehearsed, but very fun nonetheless. There was an obligatory cheer from the adults as the skit concluded and the Faire’s gates opened, but there was no enthusiasm in it. They were here because Darin’s parents were using his party to further their own social standing, not because they were interested in a Renfaire.

It was Alanna who coaxed Darin towards the gates once the majority of the adults were through, asking questions all the way and paying close attention to the answers; Clark was very grateful to leave Darin in the hands of one of Toronto’s junior, budding negotiators. Though he did blink at the way Alanna was moving; she’d taken on a stance and stride totally unlike the practical, no-nonsense girl he knew.

“He’s trying to escort her like we’re at a ball,” Lance muttered in Clark’s ear. “She’s letting him do it.”

Puzzled, Clark whispered back, “So she’s pulling dance moves or something?”

The other teenager shook his head. “No, but if she were in a dress, you wouldn’t see it snapping or twirling. More like a low to the ground flow. Basically, think high-society stuff.”

Clark wasn’t sure what his cousin meant by that, but he nodded anyway. There were just some things about his cousins that he didn’t get and probably never would.

* * * * *

It took about halfway through the circuit of displays, shops, and other Faire entertainments before Darin relaxed. It helped that it wasn’t just Alanna; several of the shopkeepers along the way recognized the teenager and greeted him as if he was an old friend, asking questions about his armor and even playfully peddling their wares to help him improve his costume. Darin bantered right back, introducing his three ‘friends’ as if he’d known them for years, and loudly whispering instructions to ‘treat them right’. Some of the armor vendors tried to pitch improvements to the kids’ Narnian armor, but even Clark could see the jealous, wistful expressions as the artisans recognized the superior quality of what they already had. Alanna graciously accepted the compliments and deflected the sales offers with a statement that she, her brother, and her cousin wanted to see the whole Faire before deciding on any purchases.

When the four reached the weapons’ crafters, the artisans took one look at the trio’s weapons and didn’t even _try_ to sell them anything, focusing exclusively on Darin. The teenager abandoned Alanna to examine several of the swords on display, but the redhead wasn’t offended as she drifted back to her brother and cousin. “He told me the sword was his first piece and he didn’t want to trade anything up until his costume was done,” she explained.

“A rapier works better in a nobleman getup,” Lance agreed. “Or if he had a matching dagger; that might work, but he’d need leather armor, not steel plate.”

Alanna nodded and Clark eyed them both in amusement. “What, you guys are medieval costume experts or something?”

Lance cast Clark an amused glance. “Think about it, Clark. What was your first thought when you saw his getup?”

“Hot,” Clark replied immediately.

“Yep,” his cousin agreed. “It’s big and fancy, and it looks like it could take a beating, but it’s show stuff. Meant to look good in ceremonies or maybe make a big clang in a joust or a tournament, but no fighter worth his salt would take it out in the field.”

“What would he use?” Clark inquired.

“Chainmail,” Alanna put in. “It’s fairly light, relatively speaking, with decent to above average protection, and a lot more flexible than plate.”

“Leather’s another option,” Lance opined. “Not as protective as chainmail, but it’s got more agility, so it’s a pretty good compromise between protection and maneuverability.”

“And cooler than plate,” Clark muttered.

Lance nodded. “If we’re talking combat plate, it’s going to be a bit more practical than what Darin’s got. Duller, with more of a focus on eliminating possible gaps. And it’s gonna be for your heavy bruisers, not a lighter frame like what he has.”

“Short term?” Clark ventured.

Both siblings nodded. “You can’t fight long in plate,” Alanna said. “Too hot, too much weight; if you tried to fight longer than a couple minutes, hello heat exhaustion.”

Clark quirked one corner of his mouth. “So, basically, you just dissected his whole costume.”

“Yeah and if he gets that monster sword, he’s an idiot,” Lance put in before swooping past and interjecting himself in the conversation between customer and blacksmith. Pointing to a sword neither of them had considered, he said, “Darin, you want that one.”

Darin blinked in surprise, but the blacksmith turned towards the sword, measuring it with his eyes before turning back to the teenagers; after a moment he started to nod thoughtfully. “It is a better choice,” he agreed.

The brunet inspected the sword, expression falling. “But it’s not fancy,” he protested, a whine entering his voice.

“Look, you don’t _want_ fancy,” Lance countered, gesturing for the blacksmith to get the sword out. The big man did so, amusement sparking in his dark eyes. Picking up the sword, Lance shifted back to get more room and experimentally hefted it. “Yeah, this is what you want,” he murmured. “It’s got good weight, the balance is almost perfect, and it’s just the right size for you. You won’t need another sword until you get a growth spurt and bulk up afterwards.”

“Even then,” the blacksmith put in. “It might still work, depending on how you want to use it.” Discreetly, he indicated the sword at Lance’s waist. “That one is very similar, Darin.”

“It is?” Clark asked as he and Alanna joined the other two teenagers.

“Yeah,” Lance confirmed. “Mine’s probably a little fancier, but they’re the same basic form.” Offering the sword to Darin, he added, “That other sword _looks_ good, but even if you just have it in a sheath, your balance is gonna be thrown off ‘cause it’s too big and too heavy for you. Wouldn’t show at first, but eventually it would start taking a toll.”

Darin pouted, but, at length, Lance and his blacksmith ally convinced the teenager to buy the plainer, more practical sword. The blacksmith even offered to hold the rapier until the end of the Faire, so Darin could wear his new sword.

Stepping in, Alanna asked Darin if they could look at some vendors who weren’t selling either swords or armor. Although still a bit sullen, Darin guided them to the next lane over and started with a glass-blowing shop when he saw Alanna’s fascination with all the glass ornaments for sale.

Not being terribly interested in glass, Clark headed for the shop just past the glass-blower, trailed by Lance. As the boys walked in, they both lit up; the vendor was selling medieval merchandise with an emphasis on _video game_ medieval characters. Zelda and World of Warcraft were the most readily recognizable, but as Clark browsed through the trinkets for sale, he saw several other games and characters represented. To the teen’s amusement, he even spotted a display with seven brilliant cut gems of the same size in different colors, proudly advertised as the Chaos Emeralds from the _Sonic the Hedgehog_ games. Not exactly medieval, but Clark suspected it was about par for the course when it came to Renfaires.

About to reach for the Emeralds, Clark became aware of an uncomfortable buzz in the air. His teeth were clenched and his muscles were stiff, as if his body had picked up on the problem before his conscious mind could. Frowning, he inspected the items in the shop with fresh eyes; he couldn’t _see_ anything wrong, but that didn’t mean anything and if he’d learned anything about the magical world, it was that wizards often saw ‘Muggles’ as fair game for ‘pranks’ and other so-called harmless mischief.

Good thing he had two experts readily available for consult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not claim to be an expert on medieval armor or weapons. I merely applied my common sense, what I've read, and what I've picked up from playing medieval type video games – World of Warcraft in particular. Please don't quote me.


	3. Mythology of Magic

“Hey, cuz, could you take a look at something?”

The brunet turned from his examination of a shelf of handmade personal journals, trying – and failing – to keep his eyes off the woman behind the shop’s counter. She was older than him, of course, but her brown eyes seemed kind and the teenager rather enjoyed the shocking purple shade of her hair. She’d used the same shade for her lipstick; Lance had to mentally shake himself to pull his gaze away from her and onto Clark. “What’s up?” he asked, sapphire drifting over his friend’s shoulder to watch the shopkeeper again.

“Not sure,” Clark murmured, getting close enough that the vendor couldn’t hear him; the brunet’s instincts prickled at the shade of worry the other teen couldn’t hide, right along with a flare of annoyance that his pseudo-cousin was being rude to the pretty woman.

Sapphire narrowed and Lance struggled to muscle his hormones back in line. “Talk to me.”

Clark fidgeted. “There’s just something about the stuff in here. Like a shiver up my spine.”

“Or nails on a chalkboard?” Lance offered, summoning his magic. If Clark was picking up on what he _thought_ he was picking up on, Lance would be very impressed. Not just anyone could do that – and it wasn’t even about magic. It was more about instinct and how the faint aura of malicious spells interacted with their environment. After a moment, the brunet nodded to himself; yep, Clark was onto something and he hadn’t even noticed because most of the spells weren’t powerful enough to affect him. Typical Muggle-Baiting spells, usually used by ‘pranksters’ who took delight in making non-magicals look foolish. It was illegal, of course, but that rarely stopped those wizards who were petty and mean-spirited enough to do that sort of thing.

Turning, Lance spied Alanna and Darin catching up; a subtle flare of his magic caught his sister’s eye and he signaled for her to keep the techie occupied. She tipped her chin, then tugged Darin back towards the glass-blower, pretending to have spotted a last-second item. Possible complication dealt with, the teenager shifted back to the woman behind the small shop’s counter. Teenage hormones perked up, eager for an interaction, but his training as Heir to the House of Calvin kicked in with a vengeance. Pretty she might be, that didn’t give her license to hurt anyone. Clark fell in behind as he strolled up to the counter. “Hi, can I borrow your notebook?” Lance asked, gesturing to it.

The vendor frowned for an instant before providing the notebook. “What can I help you with?” she inquired.

“Sec,” Lance requested, flipping to a fresh page and taking the pen Clark located in a jeans pocket. The teenager wrote for several minutes, covering the whole page in writing as he worked his way down. Peering over his shoulder, Clark bit back a low whistle at the assortment of spells on the list. Most of them did look relatively harmless, but several were not.

When he was done listing the spells he could detect, Lance finished with one final line of text, inwardly smirking even as he wrote, _Take all the spells off your stuff or I’ll call the Aurors on you right here and now._ With a pleasant smile, the teenager gave the notebook back and watched the witch’s face pale as she realized he’d identified every single _one_ of her Muggle-Baiting ‘pranks’.

Then he saw her dart a glance in the general direction of the glass-blower’s shop, face going paler as she did so. Suspicion bloomed and he leaned forward, dropping his voice lower. “Looking for someone?”

“No, of course not,” the witch replied, just a bit too quickly and too cheerfully. “I’ll take care of your request right away, sir.”

“Stop,” Lance ordered, gaze narrowing towards slits. “You’re scared and not of me.”

“Please,” the witch pleaded, eyes darting towards the glass-blower shop again. “I’ll take care of it, I promise, just go away.”

“Clark, go help ‘Lanna keep Darin busy,” Lance requested.

“Copy that, cuz,” Clark agreed, already turning to leave the shop.

Alone with the witch, Lance met her eyes, his inner teenage boy coming back out as he adopted an inviting, playful tone. “Hey, we’re not Darin’s friends. He invited Clark ‘cause they both wanted the same library book and Clark got there first.”

The witch giggled, muffling the sound with one hand.

Lance beamed. “So we got no loyalty to him, ma’am, and even if we _did_ , that would end if you told me he threatened you, okay?”

For a long, long moment, the witch didn’t respond. Instead, she gazed down at the notebook. “How do I know you can help me?” she finally whispered.

“You have my word of honor as the Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Calvin,” Lance replied, intensity shining. “My Regent is my uncle, who is also an Auror, ma’am. He won’t stand for blackmail any more than _I_ will.”

The shopkeeper stared at him, brown eyes going wide under her dyed purple hair. “You’re a _pureblood_?” she hissed. “And you come to _Renfaires_?”

“Well not before now,” Lance admitted, flushing as he ducked his head and fidgeted. “We never heard of ‘em before, ma’am, but it’s been pretty fun so far.”

The witch goggled at him anew, then shook her head. “ _Purebloods_ ,” she muttered. “Always finding new ways to _screw_ over Muggleborns.”

“That’s not fair,” Lance protested. “What, I should let you sell a whole buncha cursed stuff to my friend or all the adults here? Guarantee you the Auror Division will find out and then _you’re_ in hot water, not Darin.” He crossed his arms, returning the glare. “Look, I’m doing _you_ a favor by not calling the Aurors before giving you a chance to fix the problem. I’m even willing to put that wannabe knight in his place; that way he pits a fit at _me_ , not _you_. But you gotta work with me here. Take those spells off and replace anything that already got sold with clean stuff and I’ll call it good.”

At first, the shopkeeper didn’t reply as she debated her options, then she sighed and nodded acceptance. “Fine, pureblood. I’ll take the spells off; haven’t sold anything yet anyway. The meetings are still going on right now, so it’s just you four brats.”

Lance nodded thoughtfully, ignoring the jab at his blood status. “How’d he figure it out, do you know?”

Moving to disenchant the first batch of knick-knacks, the witch shrugged. “No idea, pureblood. He already knew when I met him. Walked into my shop at the last Faire, bold as brass; demanded to see my wand or else he was gonna get the Renfaire organizers to kick me out.”

The young man whistled low. Darin probably had the connections and the money to do just that, leaving the witch with little choice in the matter. “You showed it to him.”

Guiltily, the shopkeeper nodded.

“Only that wasn’t the end of it, was it?”

She shook her head. “He wanted something that would make his mother’s flowers die. I tried to say no, but…”

“But he wasn’t taking no for an answer,” Lance finished, closing his eyes. “And once he had you over a barrel, that was it. Lemme guess, he asked for _special_ items tonight?”

Making a face, the shopkeeper nodded again.

“Hey, what are you doing in here, Lance?” Darin asked, hurrying in, a worried glint in his eyes. “There’s another shop up the way that’s got more stuff.” As he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, Clark and Alanna came in, the former tense and the latter a mix of wary and curious.

“Nah,” Lance drawled, moving back to the journals and picking one out. “I think this shop’s got everything I want to get tonight.” He pointed to the Chaos Emeralds. “Once you’re done with those, ma’am, I’ll take them.”

“I think my Dad reserved those for my little brother,” Darin interrupted, casting the trembling witch a pointed glare.

Lance froze. _Little_ brother _? Why, you sick little…_ He cut the train of thought off, knowing his mother would’ve washed his mouth out with soap spells for even _thinking_ that word. And then she would’ve gone after his Dad and his uncle for letting him learn it. Whirling, Lance growled. “You want your _little brother_ to have those?”

“What are you, insane?” Clark burst out, indignant.

“More like angling for a jail cell,” Lance snapped; behind him, the witch squeaked. The pureblood stepped forward, sapphire blazing. “If someone were to handle all seven of those gems, the effects on them would combine.”

Clark gulped, but Darin merely arched a brow. “What effects?” he asked, tone reasonable and innocent. “They’re just a bunch of rocks.”

The brunet shook his head, not buying the act for a _second_. “Sis? Theoretical question.”

“Say on, brother,” Alanna purred, recognizing a setup when she saw one.

“Boil and Jelly-Legs jinxes.”

“Both at the same time on the same person?” Alanna inquired.

“That’s right.”

“No theory there, big brother mine,” Alanna replied, crossing her arms. “Put those two together and the victim is going to look like something out of a pulp horror novel.” Eyeing Darin with displeasure, she added, “And that’s with only _two_ spells, cast on someone in otherwise perfect health.”

“And who has magic,” Lance interjected, smirking at Darin.

“Magic?” Darin echoed, bewilderment crossing his face. “But magic’s not real, everyone knows that.”

Rolling his eyes, Lance turned, picked up one of the Chaos Emeralds, and whipped back, tossing it at Darin. The teenager yelped and let the yellow faux-gem fall instead of catching it.

“You were saying?” Clark drawled, staying back at Lance’s discreet gesture. “What’s on it?” he asked.

“Nothing, it’s just a joke,” Darin interjected, though he ruined his own nonchalance by backing away from the yellow gem.

“Conjunctivitus,” Lance corrected, casting Darin a disapproving glare and shielding his hand with a glitter of gold before he picked the gem up. “It’ll irritate your eyes and swell them shut.”

“Pleasant,” Clark deadpanned. “If that’s only _one_ of ‘em, I’d hate to hear what the others are.” Turning back to his schoolmate, the curly-haired teenager asked, “You really think a couple pranks are worth getting arrested over?”

Darin backed up a step, but he sneered nonetheless. “Who’s gonna believe a bunch of kids and con artists? I know all the Renfaire organizers, you know, and my father is paying for this party.”

“Oh, gonna play it that way?” Lance mock-questioned, gaze going hard. “Don’t pull the rich rat card on me; my family makes yours look like a bunch of pikers.” Stepping forward, the young Heir pulled his shoulders back and stood tall, allowing centuries of nobility and tradition to fall on his target. “Your anger at your parents might be justified, but that doesn’t give you the right to threaten someone’s livelihood. That doesn’t give you the right to hurt your parents’ guests or your little brother. And it sure as heck does not give you license to deflect blame on the people you’re _blackmailing_.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned to the witch behind the counter. “Did you bring merchandise that hasn’t been _enhanced_?”

She ducked her head, avoiding Darin’s furious glare. “Yes, milord.”

“No need for that,” Lance countered, shaking his head. “Finish what you’re doing and set it all aside. I’ll pay you for it later.”

“Lance,” Alanna protested.

“Not to use, sis,” the young Heir replied, holding out one hand in a peace gesture. “Just to make sure it doesn’t go to anyone else.”

He could feel Clark’s frown as well as the older boy’s unspoken point that the witch shouldn’t get off scot-free after enchanting all her merchandise with Muggle-Baiting spells. But Lance considered Darin the greater villain in the whole scenario and if he had to spend a bit of gold to defang the spoiled, angry teenager, then that was fine with him. Not to mention the shy, thankful smile the witch was now giving him…

Glancing down at the yellow faux-gem still in his hand, Lance inspected it with his magic. He could see the curse on it, anchored to tiny runes, but the runes weren’t specific to the curse. He didn’t know runes as well as his sister did, but he could tell that much. The gem itself was an excellent representation of a _Sonic the Hedgehog_ Chaos Emerald; if not for the curse, Lance wouldn’t have minded buying the lot.

Setting the gem back with its fellows, he inquired, “Got any other sets?”

The witch shook her head. “That was a specialty order,” she admitted. “I’m working on the process, but that’s the only one that’s come out right so far.”

Hmmmm… Seemed a shame to waste such good craftsmanship. “Okay, disenchant them and put them with that journal I grabbed, please. I’ll take them now.” Digging out his wallet, Lance added, “If I could get two different receipts, that’d be great.”

The witch blinked in surprise, but finished removing curses from another batch of trinkets before doing the same to the Chaos Emeralds. From under the counter, she produced a box to carry all seven gems and tucked them inside. In short order, Lance paid for the journal and the gems before promising to come back later for the larger purchase.

Darin spent the whole time seething, but Lance didn’t care. The other boy had burned any and all goodwill as far as the brunet teenager was concerned. _Especially_ with his plan to give his little brother _seven_ cursed objects.


	4. To Live By Honor

Clark trailed after his cousin, working to keep from shooting wary glances at the bag Lance was carrying. Maybe it was just him, but _buying_ a whole shop full of formerly cursed items was just stupid. And it was even _more_ stupid to _keep_ the worst of the lot, just because it was supposedly one of a kind. Walking next to him, Alanna sported an uncomfortable expression of her own, which just bolstered Clark’s unease.

Bringing up the rear, Darin’s pouting was tangible as was his indignation that his three last-second guests had ruined his revenge on his parents and their guests. Not to mention whatever his beef with his little brother was; Clark didn’t care _how_ annoying the little brother was, you didn’t hurt family like that. Above and beyond that, you didn’t blackmail a bunch of people who were just trying to scrape out a living selling knick-knacks at festivals and carnivals.

“Do you think there’s anyone else?” Clark asked, stiffening at the very thought.

“Maybe,” Alanna replied, scanning the rows of shops. “We’re gonna have to check everywhere.”

“Before the adults get out of their meetings,” Clark finished, glum at the prospect.

“Not quite that bad,” Lance remarked, slowing his pace so he could talk with his sister and cousin. “We only have to find the vendors with magic.”

“Yeah and they’re gonna be lining up to show off their wands and tell us _all_ about how they’re getting _blackmailed_ ,” Clark snarked.

“The magic part isn’t the problem,” Alanna replied. “Lance and I can tell who’s got magic.” Her face fell. “It’s the blackmail part that’s tough.” Her eyes darted to her brother. “Unless big brother mine is planning on _buying_ our way out of this.” Her mouth pursed, tone tart with disapproval.

“He walked in during her _first_ time selling at Renfaire and threatened to kick her out of she didn’t do what he wanted,” Lance hissed.

“She _says_ he did that,” Alanna muttered, glare intensifying. “If he hadn’t reacted like that, I’d have taken your head off myself, big brother mine.” Propping both hands on her hips, she snapped, “Face it, Lance; you only did that so you could be the bigger rich rat and show off for the pretty girl!”

The brunet flushed bright red, but didn’t deny his sister’s assertion. “So, what, we should just let him get away with it?”

“No, but we shouldn’t just bail out the people who went along with it,” Clark interjected. “Yeah, maybe they were blackmailed, but they still could’ve said no and they didn’t.” He shook his head. “You went way overboard, cuz, and you know it.”

Lance’s expression turned mulish. “This way she won’t be tempted to sell any of it.”

“Or you could’ve called Uncle Greg,” Alanna snipped. “The Aurors would confiscate all that stuff in an _instant_ , but _noooo_. You had to be the big hero for the pretty girl you never even _met_ before!” When her brother opened his mouth to argue back, she raised a hand. “Don’t even talk to me right now, Lancelot. Come on, Clark, lover boy can keep an eye on Darin while we go talk to that vendor up there.”

Seizing Clark’s hand, Alanna dragged him away from Lance, fully intent on her goal. He let her drag him, though he did feel a little bad. He knew what it was like to show off for a pretty girl, especially one that was older than you were. Alanna was a _girl_ , she didn’t _get_ guy stuff like that.

Inside the shop, Clark fidgeted; it was an incense shop and the vendor was burning some of her wares to give her potential shoppers an idea of what she had for sale. Perfectly reasonable, but for Clark, who’d never been interested in incense, it _stank_ and he had a feeling his cousin was going to be perfectly happy to leave _this_ vendor to his sister.

Marching up to the counter, Alanna arched a pointed brow at the blonde shopkeeper. “Sorry to be so blunt, but are you getting blackmailed by that brat Darin?”

“Brat?” the witch repeated, a slow smile appearing. “That’s an interesting way for one of Darin’s own friends to describe him.”

“He’s not my friend,” Alanna countered. “I only met him tonight and Clark here only met him last week in his school library.” She tossed her head, sending auburn locks flying. “So? What’d he talk you into, hmmm? I bet his Mom’s guests would love your shop; they seem like the type to do incense.”

The blonde cast the redhead a reproving glare. “Whatever young Darin might wish, I am not so foolish as you seem to think.” She gestured to her shop. “This is my livelihood; why would I endanger that for some young _brat’s_ idea of a prank?”

“So he tried, but you told him to take a hike?” Alanna questioned. “He didn’t threaten to go to the Renfaire organizers?”

“Ah,” the witch breathed. “You started with Kara, didn’t you?” Without waiting for a response, she shook her head. “I have worked with the Renfaire for many years, young lady, far longer than Darin has been coming.”

“You’ve got standing,” Clark murmured, stepping up to join the women. “Darin couldn’t threaten you ‘cause your reputation’s older than his.”

The blonde inclined her head. “And if Kara had kept her head and come to any of us, we could have told her that Darin’s power is but a fantasy.”

“He’s tried his threat before, hasn’t he?” Alanna breathed.

“Oh, yes, many times,” the witch confirmed. “And he has tried to carry through whenever we refuse, but I have never seen it succeed.”

Alanna and Clark traded grim looks, then Clark asked the witch, “So why not tell Kara she didn’t have to knuckle under?”

“We did,” the shopkeeper replied. At the twin stunned expressions, she shook her head. “Kara is an excellent actress when she wishes to be; Darin truly believes he has her under his thumb, but she does as she pleases and always has.” One eyebrow arched. “What has she done this time?”

“Just about everything in her shop was cursed,” Clark admitted. “Alanna’s brother identified all the curses and told her to take ‘em off or he’d call the Aurors.” He indicated Alanna. “We were keeping Darin away, so I’m not sure if she cried on him or what, but he basically took her side against Darin.”

Shrewd gray regarded them; the witch knew they weren’t telling her the whole story, but she nodded. “Do not go back to her shop,” she advised, reaching down to withdraw a business card from her stack. Flipping it over, she wrote on it for several seconds, then held it out to Alanna. “I will speak to all the others here and insure that Kara is the only fool who chose to cater to Darin’s tantrum. Have you a map?”

“We’ve been following Darin around,” Alanna confessed. “We didn’t know what he was up to until, well…”

“I understand.” The witch drew out a map and showed it to them, indicating one location. “This is where we are.” She sketched a light line from the location to another one, drawing an X. “Take your brother and whatever he purchased down to the fortune teller; that note I gave you will tell her what to look for.”

“You think he’s…”

“Not necessarily,” the blonde interrupted, shaking her head. “He is your age?”

“Just a little younger than me,” Clark informed her, though he was pretty sure he knew where she was going. “ ‘Lanna, chill; he’s got a crush, that’s all.” At the redhead’s skeptical expression, Clark grinned at her. “Trust me, it’s not magic. He’s just not thinking with his head right now.”

Alanna made a face and the witch laughed at them. Turning to her, the redhead asked, “You’ll make sure no one gets hurt?”

“I will,” the shopkeeper promised. “If something were to happen, it would harm the Faire; we will not permit that, not when most of us have nowhere else to go.”

Clark frowned; that didn’t sound fair to him, not when their only ‘sin’ was being tech-born in a magical world. But hasty offers had already backfired on them once, so he kept his mouth shut as Alanna thanked the witch and paid her for her time. The witch offered to give them some of her wares, but much as they appreciated her help, neither teen was interested in incense.

* * * * *

Lance was _not happy_ when his sister and cousin came back from the incense shop and proceeded to drag him through the Renfaire to a _fortune teller_. Seriously? Couldn’t they have just _asked_? And why was his sister telling him he couldn’t sneak off to talk to that cute shopkeeper again? Bad enough that Darin was snickering at him over the dragging, but at least the cute witch hadn’t seen it…

Then Alanna broke off to scold Darin and Clark pulled him off to the side, expression solemn. “Look, the witch who runs that incense shop told me ‘n’ ‘Lanna that Darin’s been a pest for years. He’s always thumping his chest and claiming he can get people kicked out of the Renfaire, but it’s a bunch of hot air – and your cute purple-haired witch knows it.”

“She did?” Lance echoed, surprised. Then his eyes narrowed. “But that’s just what one person said.”

Clark winced, knowing Lance was turning _their_ argument back against them. “Okay, you got a point, but so did she. She asked us why she’d want to ruin her own livelihood by letting Darin talk her into hurting her own customers. She _did_ say Darin’s tried the whole, ‘Do as I say or I’ll get you kicked out’ routine before, but it’s never _worked_.”

Lance considered that. “So why didn’t they warn her?”

“They did,” Clark explained. “She told us that your shopkeeper _pretends_ to be all afraid of Darin – and he thinks he’s got her conned – but she’s really doing whatever she wants to do.” Fidgeting, the curly-haired teen added, “I know it’s a she-said, she-said routine, but it makes sense to me, Lance. She didn’t have to curse all her stuff; all she had to do was _claim_ she had and Darin never woulda known the difference.”

The brunet stared at the ground, wanting to argue, but he couldn’t. Only a wizard would’ve been able to tell if an object was cursed or not; even if Darin had taken the ‘Chaos Emeralds’ home and complained after nothing happened to his little brother, all the witch would’ve had to do was apologize and feed him some line about magic not lasting as long as expected or something. But she’d gone ahead and put curses on _everything_ except the handmade journals. Why?

_Because she wanted to,_ his conscience whispered. _She wanted to hurt people and Darin paid her to do it._

It wasn’t fair…why would a pretty girl like that do _anything_ to hurt people? She didn’t have to; the rune work on the Emeralds was good, really good. She could’ve put any spell she wanted on them and probably made some decent money selling them in magic-side Toronto. Only tech-borns would’ve known why she was selling sets of seven gems or why they were cut like they were – they would’ve been in on the joke, but instead she was _here_ , trying to use them to _hurt_ people.

“Cuz? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lance replied roughly, pushing past Clark and into the fortune teller’s tent. So he’d been stupid, so what? He wasn’t going to show any weakness with that jerk Darin right there. He was aware of his companions following him in and saw Alanna slip up to the fortune teller with a business card, but he really didn’t care. The sooner he could go home and hide in his room for a couple hours, the better.

The fortune teller – an appropriately elderly woman with silvery white hair and vivid gray eyes that seemed to peer right into your soul – examined the business card and tut-tutted. Then she turned to Lance and extended a hand. “The journal and the gems, if you would, young sir.”

The brunet handed the whole bag over without protest, keeping his expression as blank as possible.

The old woman briefly examined the journal, shaking her head and set it aside before scrutinizing the seven gems. Humming to herself, the witch arranged the gems in a circle, with one in the middle. Reaching out, she held one hand over the gems and began chanting in a low voice. Lance’s mental ears perked up; it wasn’t of the Old Religion, but it was definitely older than Latin. Tilting his head, the young man identified threads of Ancient Greek and Ancient Egyptian in the chant as well as a hint of Ancient Sumerian. Interesting; normally, each ancient language had its own type of magic and they didn’t intermix all that well. While Latin magic had grafted in a few spells from other languages, by and large, it _was_ Latin.

As the fortune teller chanted, the gems began to glow and they lifted up off the table, each rotating as the circle itself began to rotate, with only the middle gem remaining stationary in its rotation. Each gem’s glow was tinted the gem’s color, but for them to react all at the same time… Lance wasn’t completely sure of the Arithmancy behind the gems, but they had to be magically linked together; what happened to _one_ would happen to all of them. As if to confirm his suspicions, the gems lowered back to the table, the glow within each one fading.

Withdrawing her hand, the fortune teller gazed up at him. “I have cleansed the gems, young man, but such curses leave traces. You would be best served to destroy them; they will be unpredictable at best.”

“What about the journal?” Lance inquired.

“It has not been affected in any way,” the old woman replied. “I See that you will not be moved, young man. Very well, I have warned you as best I can; let the consequences be yours.” She gathered the gems up, placing them back inside the box they had come in, and bundled both box and journal back into the shopping bag. “That will be fifteen Galleons.”

Alanna opened her mouth to protest and Lance waved her silent. Sure, the fortune teller was miffed he wasn’t going to destroy what he’d just bought on her say-so and sure, she was probably gorging him, but that was fine. He deserved it anyway. So he pulled out the requested Galleons and counted them out, but placed his palm over the golden coins when she reached for them. “My cousin tells me that Darin’s antics are well-known,” he remarked in a level tone.

She peered at him and nodded slowly. “They are, young man. As are Kara’s, for that is truly your question for me.”

“A warning then, if you will pass it on,” Lance said, pulling his hand back and withdrawing another five Galleons from his money pouch.

“I shall, but I cannot promise that it will be heeded.”

“No one can promise that,” Lance agreed, still in a level tone. “Tell Kara that had she been honest with me, the House of Calvin would have upheld the agreement. Even if she had admitted that she knew full well that Darin could not _truly_ threaten her place in your Faire and that she acted of her own accord, I would have honored my bargain with her. She lied and so broke our agreement.” He laid out the additional coins and stepped back. “Thus I make a new bargain with you and yours. Ensure that none of her merchandise escapes to harm those who attend your Faire and I will consider myself satisfied.”

“Understood. And the warning?”

Fangs flashed in the young Heir’s grin. “If she has any of that stuff I identified by this time tomorrow, I’m sure the authorities will be _very_ interested.” Shifting on his heels, he cast Darin a deadly glare before the other teen could speak and stalked past him out of the tent.

Following him, Darin snapped, “I want you three _outta_ here!”

“Fine,” Lance agreed, turning to face the other. “But then you’re going to have to explain to your parents why you chased off the only kids here your own age. You sure you want to do that?”

“You ruined _everything_.”

“Look, we’re sorry about how your parents treat you, but that’s no reason to do what you did,” Clark interjected.

“We’ll leave right after I finish up here,” Lance announced right as Clark drew breath to continue.

“Lance,” Alanna hissed, warning in her voice.

“ ‘Lanna, I heard Clark, I heard you, and I heard that fortune teller, but I let myself get suckered and I made an agreement.”

“Which you just repudiated,” Alanna argued, propping her hands on hips. “You pay for all that stuff and you’re _enabling_ her.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Lance replied, turning to head back towards ‘Kara’s’ shop. “You coming?” he added in Darin’s direction.

“Just _leave_ ,” Darin snapped. “You’ve already caused enough trouble!”

The brunet swiveled, pulling out his phone as he did so. “Either you let me do this or I call someone who will make _sure_ you and your accomplice can’t hurt anyone, capiche?” At the sullen glare he received, he nodded once and turned to continue towards the shop. Inside his head, teenage hormones were panting and slavering, but the sting of reality and the lash of embarrassment combined to keep them in check.

When he reached the shop in question, he swept in, not at all surprised to see all of his ‘purchases’ in bags and fresh merchandise out on the tables. Nor was he surprised when his magic could sense nothing at all wrong with the fresh merchandise – no doubt Kara had decided against risking a hefty pay-off when he’d already demonstrated his ability to identify nasty Muggle-Baiting spells.

“Welcome back,” she said, beaming at him in a way that made his hormones lurch and slaver even more.

Strolling forward, the young man leaned against the counter, sapphire unforgiving as he gestured to the sullen wannabe knight. “I _understand_ that it’s a common practice for Darin here to huff and puff and threaten to blow your house down.”

Clark sniggered, recognizing the reference.

“But, you know, that’s only a threat when you’ve got a straw or wood stick house. Not when you’re sitting all warm and snug in a brick house with tons of backup from people who know _exactly_ what Darin here is all about.”

Kara paled, but fluttered her eyes. “How was _I_ to know?” she simpered.

“Easy. You play along long enough to get the brat out of your shop and then you ask around,” Lance drawled. Crossing his arms, he added, “Or you coulda bluffed him if you didn’t want to make him mad.”

“Anything but risking harm to your own customers,” Alanna put in, finally understanding her brother’s tack.

Lance gestured to his sister, nodding agreement. “So. Here’s our problem. I made an agreement, but I got no way of knowing if my money’s going to end up financing one _heck_ of a career in Muggle-Baiting.” He lifted his other hand, shaking his head. “And any promises you make now aren’t worth my time or yours.”

The witch didn’t respond, but the teenager didn’t see a _lick_ of regret in her eyes.

“So, here’s what I’m going to do,” Lance said, leaning forward. “I’m going to pay you whatever’s on that receipt with a draft from Gringotts, but for the next _seven_ years, you’re going to have a helper in your shop with you and if he sees anything he doesn’t like, the authorities are going to be paying you a visit on the spot, understand?”

“Seven!” Kara yelped.

“One year for each gem,” Lance countered. “Just be glad I’m not making it a year for everything I’m buying.” He smiled, but it was a shark’s grin. “So, this helper, he’ll do what you tell him to do, but ultimately, he’ll answer to _me_.” The teen paused for effect. “He’ll be along yet this evening, so one last warning. If he needs to defend himself, I’ll turn everything you’re selling me over to law enforcement.”

“And if I refuse to sell you anything?” Kara questioned.

The teenager shrugged, pulling out his phone. “You can do that,” he remarked. “And then I call them right now.”

The witch was _deeply_ unhappy, but she grudgingly sold the sacks of items, glaring the entire time. Lance very discreetly cast a lightening charm on the bags, but refused to let his sister or Clark carry anything other than his original purchases. He’d been the stupid one and he should pay for his own decisions.

Clark awkwardly said good-bye to Darin; despite everything, the trio _did_ still feel rather bad for his situation. They just didn’t think it justified his attempt to Muggle-Bait his parents, their guests, or give seven cursed gems to his little brother. Alanna lightly kissed him on the cheek, thanking him for showing them around the Renfaire and whispering that if he needed friends, he had them – if only he would stop trying to use them as _tools_ against his parents. Lance waited until his sister and cousin were done before asking for a moment alone.

Gazing directly at the other boy, he said, “I was dumb, so sorry for pulling the richer rich rat card on you.”

Darin snorted.

“But you know, she knew all along that you couldn’t do anything to her, so she was playing both of us.” He tapped the bulging bags. “She suckered me right in and I let her do it. Don’t know how much you gave her and I don’t care. Take my advice and stay away ‘cause someone like that…” He shook his head. “…she’ll give you a cursed object just as easily as she would’ve let you give it to your little brother.”

“Anything else you wanna preach at me about?”

Reaching down, Lance tugged a short weapon in a sheath off his belt. “I can’t make you listen, but here.” He offered the weapon, still in its sheath. “This should go with your rapier. Get yourself leather armor and you can use either your rapier or that sword you got with this. It’ll be a lot more comfortable than the plate you’re wearing right now.”

Surprised, Darin took the dagger, staring at the outwardly plain weapon. “When did you get this?”

“When Clark told us you were into medieval stuff, I had it made,” Lance explained, shifting awkwardly. “It’s yours, so take good care of it and good luck to you, Darin.” Without waiting for a reply, he hefted the bulging bags again. He needed to get out of sight so he could handle one last thing.

* * * * *

Clark and Alanna were waiting for him and neither allowed him to argue as they each took a bag. Sighing, Lance gave in and called one of the more unusual Calvin Family house-elves. “Kabo!”

The house-elf appeared, bowing briefly. “What can Kabo be doing for Master?”

Lance outlined the situation as well as his solution and his order that if the witch attempted to harm the house-elf, he was to go to Gringotts, retrieve the formerly cursed items, and take them to the Aurors at once. While most house-elves could not have handled such an assignment, Kabo was a touch older and rather independent for his kind. Once the teenager was done explaining, the elf was vibrating in glee at the prospect of playing ‘probation officer’ to a potentially troublesome witch.

The delighted, gleeful elf collected all the evidence of Kara’s attempted Muggle-Baiting and _popped_ off to Gringotts to have it stored before beginning his assignment. Although Kabo could have also collected gold for the payment, Lance wanted Kara to be on record with Gringotts as having cashed the bank draft he’d given her. The more evidence, the better, particularly after he’d been so monumentally _stupid_.

Gazing at his sister and cousin, he said, “Let’s go home.”

“Copy that, cuz,” Clark agreed. “Hey, could you guys take a look at that book I checked out?”

Mustering a wan smile, Lance replied, “Sure thing, Clark.”

“Are you going to keep those gem things?” Alanna asked.

“Yeah,” Lance admitted. “I know what that fortune teller said, but maybe I can find a way around that or something.”

Alanna grumbled under her breath, but said nothing more as they headed for the car they’d borrowed from their uncle for the evening. Inside the last shopping bag, next to the red journal with a horse engraved on its leather cover, the seven Chaos Emeralds glittered and spun in their box for an instant.

_~Fin_


End file.
